Nothing to say
by sarbey
Summary: A funeral, a hug and the weight of a friendship. Post season four. Wilson/Cameron and Wilson/House friendship. Maybe a bit of House/Cam if you squint really hard. Oneshot


A/N Muse thinks it's funny to give me ideas that have absolutely nothing to do with my stories in progress. I hope after this she will be satified and lets me properly work again. I haven't seen the season finale yet but I've read so many spoilers (you go and try to avoid them, it's impossible) that this wouldn't leave me. And since I finally finished school two weeks ago I now have time to write again. Hope you enjoy and tell me what you think. And watch out for the next chapter for A tangled web.

* * *

It rains again and Wilson thinks it's fitting. Even heaven cries at the unfairness of it all and for a moment he allows himself to wallow in the utterly despair that seems to encase the cemetery on this day.

He barely hears the words of her eulogy; all he can think of is that it's wrong. She can't be dead lying in a coffin; he has to get her out of the cold and back into the safety of his arms but then the words stop and reality comes crashing down again and reminds him that his lover is dead.

She is dead.

There will be no more late night dinners in front of the TV after hours of passionate lovemaking. No more stupid fights and mumbled apologies, no more…life.

Because that's where it ends, isn't it?

What meaning has life without her?

The service has ended but he doesn't notice until his mother places a hand on his shoulder. She is gentle, she always is and she tells him that they will wait for him at the car with Amber's parents.

They will wait with the parents of a possible daughter in law they will never meet.

It would have been the fourth but he likes to think that this time would have been the charm; that maybe this could have been for life.

Could have, would have, should have, useless phrases he thinks but nevertheless he wishes.

His parents didn't ask him where House was; Cuddy filled them in he supposes and he is grateful for the reprieve.

He knows the questions will come when a few weeks will have passed and then a few months, maybe even a year.

But can he really do it? Can he ignore the man that has been the cause of the greatest pain in the years he has known him and yet also been his best friend?

Being friends with House is a contradiction he thinks. You don't get to do it half way; it's all or nothing. And yet he has never been able to get to the core, never quite lifted the last layer of the rude personality his former best friend wears like an armour.

He only knows two other people who would stick with House through everything, one being Mrs House and the other one the sweet and gentle Allison Cameron though he isn't quite so sure about her anymore.

Cuddy has tried the middle way, she still does but he suspects that she will have to decide soon what's more important. Her friendship to House or her dedication to her job.

So can he really cut off that friendship? Can he stop a behaviour he has cultivated so meticulously over the last years without loosing an important part of his life?

He likes to think so.

A noise startles him and he looks up and there, completely drenched, stands the small figure of Allison Cameron. Her blond hair is plastered to her forehead and her clothes cling to her body and she looks at him with something in her eyes he can't quite decipher.

She comes closer and he wants to tell her to go, to let him mourn and wallow in silence but something stops him because he now recognizes that look in her eyes and it's achingly familiar.

And then he remembers conversations about cancer and dying and dead husbands and suddenly he doesn't mind her presence anymore.

She wrings her hands, awkwardly and it's obvious that she wants to say something but can't seem to find the words but he is patient, he has time.

There's nobody waiting for him anymore.

But she doesn't say anything she just shuffles closer and raises her arms and before he can even blink she has enveloped him in a tentative hug. And suddenly he knows that she never had the intention of saying anything, this is exactly what she had in mind when she stayed behind to keep him company in his solace.

He wants to tell her to go, wants her to stop but his body doesn't seem to comply and then he is clinging to her while the rain still pours down on them and mixes with his salty tears in the crook of her neck where he has buried his face.

They stay like that for what seems like hours where in reality only a few minutes have passed and when he stops shivering she pulls back again, looking at him slightly embarrassed.

But he is grateful because now he feels lighter somehow as if somebody has taken something from him he didn't know he had to carry in the first place.

She takes something from her pocket and hands it to him. It's a photo but it's turned down so he can't see it. When he attempts to turn it around she stops him with a shake of her head and gives him a small smile.

He gets the message.

He waits until she has disappeared from view before he takes a look at the picture and his breathing stops.

It's a snapshot, taken in the heat of the moment at the oncology benefit a few years ago. It shows a smiling Wilson and a grinning House with their arms around each other. That pose had been the source of gossip for weeks afterwards but it had been worth it.

He looks up as to look for Cameron but she is gone and suddenly he knows that there is still one person who will stand with House, no matter what. She's just gotten better at hiding it.

He fishes in his pocket for his cell phone and opens it, shifting through the numbers until he reaches a very familiar one.

In a fit of anger he had erased it from speed dial a few days earlier.

He hesitates but the weight of the photo in his other hand reminds him of the weight of what he once shared with the man at the other end of the invisible line.

He presses the call button.

* * *

And?


End file.
